


a thousand silhouettes (dancing on my chest)

by giucorreias



Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Blood Magic, Consultant Jeremy, M/M, Necromancy, Witches, aftg reverse big bang 2021, police officer Jean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-08
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-14 07:21:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 18,815
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29913411
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/giucorreias/pseuds/giucorreias
Summary: This is what life looks like for Jean Moreau: endless days of bitter coffee and homicide investigations alongside his partner, Detective Alvarez. Then Kevin Day comes back, bringing with him too many memories Jean would rather leave buried... and Jeremy Knox.
Relationships: Jeremy Knox/Jean Moreau
Comments: 2
Kudos: 12
Collections: AFTG Reverse Big Bang 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Graystern](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Graystern/gifts).



> First I would like to thank Graystern for her amazing prompt and her willingness to work with me when I decided to take it somewhere she wasn't expecting. I would also like to thank staywithme_13 for being endlessly patient with me, sleepingnerd for being the blessing they are unto my life, and twistedromance for her cheerleading and support. An additional huge thanks to the people who made the rbb possible!
> 
> Also: I'd never written a murder mystery before, so this is my first attempt at something vaguely ressembling that. So I would like you all to keep in mind that a) I have no idea how police protocol works beyond CSI and Criminal Minds, which were two of my greatest inspirations; and b) I have no idea how big South Carolina actually is, or how weather & geography works. I'm going to have to ask you guys to suspend some disbelief, ahahaha. Other than that, I hope you guys enjoy the experience of reading this, and feel free to give me feedback!
> 
> **ADDITIONAL WARNINGS:**  
>  There's self-harm for the purposes of blood magic on the fic. There are mentions of animal death/cruelty. There are also some descriptions of dead bodies. If you guys think anything else should be added to the warnings, please let me know!

The hot midday air greets Jean as he leaves the car, Alvarez at his heels. It’s the height of summer, and any other person might think it’s a beautiful day, today, the blue sky bright and cloudless and the temperature perfect for the beach. It’s a shame, then, that Jean is both disinclined to be an optimist, and currently working — homicides are, after all, not particularly pleasant.

There’s an officer waiting for them at the perimeter, though not anyone Jean’s familiar with — which probably means he’s new at this, green and untested. Maybe that explains why he’s here and not with the body, or the way he smiles and waves at them, like a puppy. “Hi! Detective Moreau and, uh, Alvarez, yes? I’ve been waiting for you.”

Alvarez greets him with a smile, and opens her mouth to say something inane, but Jean speaks before she can — it’s hot, he’s hungry, and he’d like to minimize the amount of time he has to spend under the day’s heat. “What do you have for us?”

“Oh! Uh- The body’s a female, mid-twenties. No identification. The guy who found the body claims that he was walking with his dog when he stumbled upon her.”

Jean goes through the yellow tape, and starts walking towards the body. Alvarez follows, the new officer keeping pace with them. It’s a recent death, Jean thinks. His magic reacts stronger when it’s recent. Violent, too, if the buzzing under his skin is anything to go by. “Cause of death?” he asks.

“Bite marks, consistent with some kind of animal.”

Jean nods. This is an urban park — the probability of it being a wild animal is null. “Shifter?” He wonders.

The officer shrugs. “You’re the specialists.”

Jean kneels by the body. The woman was probably considered beautiful, when she was alive. Her death, however, is a gruesome sight. Her strawberry blond hair is matted with dried blood, and her throat’s been torn out by teeth. There are scratch and bite marks everywhere else, which does tell the story of a violent fight. The marks are indeed too large to be normal animals, so the murderer is definitely a shifter of some sort.

“Werewolf,” Alvarez says.

“The murderer?”

“The woman. She’s a werewolf.”

Jean looks away from the body, towards her face. She’s frowning, but she doesn’t look too worried. Not someone she knew personally, then. “Do you recognize her?”

“You know, not all werewolves know each other. It’s rude to assume.”

Jean rolls his eyes. The supernatural community of South Carolina  _ is _ , indeed, big enough that knowing every creature that’s a part of it isn’t feasible. Werewolves are special cases, however, and they tend to be a very close-knit community. Something about pack bonds and true mates and a weird urban hierarchy that doesn’t work as well as it should. It’s not an out-of-this-world assumption that Alvarez would know any given werewolf that they meet.

Especially considering she goes out of her way to be informed about the comings and goings of her territory.

He could justify his question. He doesn’t. He just waits her out.

“Jokes are lost on you.” Alvarez sighs. “Yes, I do recognize her.”

Jean nods. “Do you know her name?”

“Yeah. Katherine Beltman.” She comes closer to the body, angling herself so she’s standing between Jean and the officer that accompanied them. “She’s new. Hasn’t been here for very long, doesn’t have enemies that I can think of. I don’t know if she had any pack in the city, but I can find out for you.” She says this, though she’s looking significantly at the body.

Jean huffs. Alvarez nods her head towards the body again, and Jean looks forcefully away from her, towards the bite marks again. “Do you think this was some fight for dominance gone wrong? Maybe someone from her past that followed her here.”

“Wouldn’t it be great if someone could just  _ ask her _ ?” Alvarez’s tone is cheerful. Jean grits his teeth. He looks pointedly at the other officer, who up until now had been watching them with something akin to fascination, and Alvarez makes sure to roll her eyes exaggeratedly at him. Then she turns back towards the officer.

“Officer… what did you say your name was again? I’m sorry. Can you take me to the guy who found the body? I’d like to ask him a few questions.” Her tone is flirty, and her smile is bright. It’s a very effective distraction, because the officer gives her his undivided attention, and  _ blushes _ .

“I- sure,” he stammers, and Jean pities him. Alvarez is as lesbian as they come. “Uh, please, follow me.”

Alvarez gestures for the man to lead the way, and starts following him — though not before sending one last significant look towards the body and wiggling her fingers at Jean.

Jean sighs, then turns it into a deep breath. He looks around, furtively, though no one’s looking at him, and Alvarez is keeping everyone else distracted. They could do this without his powers, Jean thinks, but it’ll be so much quicker if he just- he stops stalling, takes his silver knife out of his pocket, and makes a little cut on his palm. He lets it drop on the dead woman’s forehead, then uses it to draw a sigil.

The woman opens her eyes.

“Katherine?” Jean asks, softly. “I’d like to ask you a few questions about the circumstances of your death.”

  
  
  


“I don’t understand why you’re so adamant you need to hide it,” Alvarez says as they arrive back at the precinct. “Low-level necromancy isn’t against the law anymore, and I bet you could make her answers admissible in court.”

“ _ Alvarez _ .”

“It just seems redundant to have to find alternate ways to justify our investigations because you don’t want to admit your magic is a little creepy. I mean, doesn’t it frustrate you when you  _ know  _ something because a dead person told you, but then you have to let it go because there’s no physical proof?”

“No.”

“Liar.” Alvarez puts her arm around Jean’s shoulders, and Jean looks at her with an unimpressed look on his face. It doesn’t faze her: she pulls him a little until they’re closer, and then uses her other arm to point at nothing. “Imagine,” she says. She slides her hand through the air, palm open. “The lawyer says they’re calling in another witness, and in comes the dead person to point their fingers at their own murderer. No one could doubt such a witness.”

“The dead lie as much as the living, you know. They’re as fallible a witness as anyone else.”

“Well, what’s the point of lying? They’re already dead. The worst has already happened. And don’t they leave their earthly worries behind or some such thing like that?”

“That’s not how it works, no.”

Alvarez  _ tsks _ . “Well, then how does it work?”

Jean opens his mouth to answer, but it’s not his voice that says: “They can feel the same things they did when they were alive, mostly, though the negative feelings tend to be considerably stronger, and the positive feelings more dulled. A dead person could lie about who murdered them for revenge, or out of fear for their loved ones. They’d also not be the best witnesses to stand, because they’d unnerve the jury.”

Jean whirls around, dislodging Alvarez. He recognizes the voice, of course he does, even though it’s been years since he last heard it outside of his nightmares. It’s funny, the details his brain can keep: some voices, some faces, some smells. One particular type of pain. Nothing about his early childhood, or his parents.

“Kevin,” he says. That, and nothing else. He doesn’t know what else to say, for a moment. His brain has frozen. He’s back at the last time they saw each other, over Riko’s dead body, the FBI’s supernatural unit storming the Nest. They hadn’t said anything then, either.

The silence stretches. Kevin licks his lips, then says: “You look well.”

Jean’s throat works, and it’s hard for him to find his voice. He looks at his own hands, clean of blood, his earlier cut already bandaged, then back at Kevin’s face. No bruise. “What are you doing here?” He’s proud of how steady his voice sounds.

“I need a favor.”

Jean raises his eyebrows, and Kevin purses his lips. Jean opens his mouth, then closes it. It’s been years since they last saw each other — and even longer since they last  _ spoke _ . Kevin’s last words to Jean had been a promise to go back to him, before disappearing for almost four years without notice. Then Riko’s death, and then nothing. They’d been friends once, as close as brothers, even. Now they’re barely even strangers.

Jean lets the silence stretch, and stares at Kevin.  _ He _ looks well. He’s standing full height, instead of slouched like he used to, for fear of undermining Riko. No bruises, a good tan, and a well-fitted suit. His hair’s longer than it used to be, and there’s a wisp of stubble that indicates he’s left his teen years behind.

The silence grows more uncomfortable, more charged, the more neither of them say anything else. It’s Alvarez who deigns to break it, once she realizes neither of them will: “I’m getting myself a cup of coffee,” she nods, resolute, and starts towards the door. She hesitates. “Your usual, Jean? And, ah, Kevin, was it? Do you want anything?”

Kevin is the one to blink and look away. “No, thank you,” he answers. Jean only nods at her. When Kevin turns back to him, he hesitates only another second. “Have you heard of the SDU? We’re a task force of supernatural beings responsible for dealing with serial killer cases. Usually. Though sometimes we deal with high-profile criminals, too. Like, uh-”

Jean nods, curtly. “Yeah. I’ve heard of you.” His lips twitch up unconsciously. He wants Kevin to leave, but he’s also curious now. “What’s this favor you need to ask?”

A pause. “Two of our members are currently… on leave.” Another pause. Kevin seems to be picking words, saying his piece carefully. It’s a different look on him. Careful. He wonders how he learnt it. Why. “We’re understaffed. And I have a case that needs someone of your… specialty.”

Jean feels cold. “No.”

Kevin sighs.

“I wouldn’t ask if there was any alternative. I know that we didn’t... ” he pauses. “I know that there’s a lot of bad blood between us.” Understatement. “Because of- well. But it’s a complicated case, and I need someone I trust on it.”

“And you trust  _ me _ ?” It’s out before Jean can stop himself.

Kevin doesn’t answer, but Jean doesn’t need him to. He feels a strange weight settle in his stomach, and he pinches the bridge of his nose to avoid letting it show on his face. “Fine,” he says. His voice only wobbles a little. “Fine. But I’m bringing Alvarez with me.”

Kevin nods gravely once, twice. “Deal,” he says.

  
  
  


Immediately as they enter the coroner’s office, Jean understands why Kevin said it’s a complicated case. Usually, when Jean’s around death, he feels… something. Especially when it comes to murder, there’s the victim’s restless spirit begging to be given voice, and even when the death is not violent there’s usually the faint little buzzing of his magic recognizing its affinity.

Here, there’s nothing.  _ Nothing _ . Even ignoring everything else — because Kevin called him in for a reason, and he’s not a necromancer himself, so  _ this _ is certainly not it — Jean already knows this won’t be easy to solve.

“We were hoping you could wake him up, so we could ask a few questions.”

Jean’s shaking his head even before Kevin’s done speaking. “No, it won’t work.”

Kevin turns towards him, an annoyed frown between his brows, and Jean fights the urge to fidget, to apologize. “What do you mean, it won’t work? You’ve never seen a body you couldn’t  _ wake _ ,” Kevin accuses.

Jean doesn’t take a step back from Kevin. He squares his shoulders, instead. “Well,  _ Dr. Day _ , I’m afraid there’s nothing here I can work with.”

Kevin opens his mouth, then closes it. He takes a deep breath, lets his own shoulders drop, and gestures for Jean to keep talking.

“I’m glad I have your  _ permission _ .” Jean strides past him towards the body. He half expects Kevin to snark back, but there’s only heavy silence. Jean puts both hands on the metal cot, closes his eyes for a second, then lets the tension unwind. There’s no point in antagonizing Kevin, they’re at the same side in this. “Usually, when there’s a body, there’s energy. Magical particles, or whatever it is you’re calling it these days. There’s nothing here. Nothing I could use to power the spirit. It’s as if it- I mean,  _ he  _ had never been alive in the first place.”

Kevin shakes his head. “That’s  _ impossible _ .”

Jean turns back towards him, one eyebrow raised. Kevin looks away. “And yet, here it is.”

“Can you use yourself as an anchor?”

“Can I?” Jean snorts. “Probably. Should I? Definitely not. I’ve always had some sort of original energy to guide the ritual. Without it, I’d have no idea where to start, who to call. If there even is  _ something _ to call. For all I know, there’s no spirit.”

“That’s-” Kevin starts, and then takes a deep sigh. Jean smirks at him. “Can you look it over again? Please.”

Jean rolls his eyes, but nonetheless turns back towards the body. It’s a strange sight. The man in the cot is all wrinkled, like a mummy. As if he’d been sucked of all vitality, and now there’s only a dried husk left behind. He knows of no creature that can do this, so it has to be the work of a mage. He concentrates on the body. There’s no energy he can use, here,  _ he’s sure of it _ , or he’d have felt it when he got in. But that doesn’t mean there’s no energy. Every magic leaves a trace.

If he just-  _ there _ . Faint, but there. Traces of natural, earth magic. He relays that to Kevin.

“Earth magic, you say? Huh.” Kevin whips up his phone, looks at the screen intently for a moment. Then, weirdly, his face brightens. “I know exactly who to call. Let’s meet tomorrow, I’ll let you know if there are any other developments in the meantime.” He’s already walking away, typing.

“ _ Ingrat _ ,” Jean mutters. This is going to be terrible, he can already tell.


	2. Chapter 2

Jeremy likes sunny days. It’s maybe the fact that the sun is essential to plants, and so his magic has a natural affinity to it. Or perhaps it’s the fact that people use the sun to describe him as a person — he’s sunny, he has a sunny personality, a sunny smile. It doesn’t matter. The fact is: it’s a sunny day, and something tells him it’s going to be a good one.

“You always look so happy,” Laila grumbles when she arrives, heavy feet and carrying one notebook under each arm, the other probably inside her backpack. “It’s uncanny, J. You should smile less. Maybe tone it down a little. You’ll make me blind one of these days.”

“I have a good feeling about today.”

“Don’t you always?” She grunts. She sets her notebooks behind the counter, and turns them on with a gesture of her hand. “Ugh. I need coffee. A whole pot.” She says, and then yawns. Behind her, the coffee maker dings and turns on, then starts working. The scent of coffee permeates the store, and Laila wakes up little by little.

While she’s distracted with the coffee and her machines — that’s her affinity, technology — Jeremy makes his rounds. His store is less of a magic shop, as was his original intention, and more of a flower shop. There are plants everywhere, most of them of the magical variety, though a good quantity of them are just plants he thinks are beautiful and make the place look better. He does sell the occasional potion, or poultice, though generally speaking most witches prefer to do their own potions, and mostly go to him for ingredients.

And flowers. His bouquets  _ always _ last longer.

“Do you have anything planned for today?” Laila types away at one of the notebooks, inhaling a mug of coffee. “Kevin Day wants to talk to you.”

“Oh, Kevin sent a message?” Jeremy pauses, looking intently at one of his plants. The leaves aren’t as green as they could be, aren’t as strong. He  _ tsks _ , touches the dirt, then closes his eyes. The information on what the plant needs comes to him, easy as breathing. When he opens his eyes, he needs to blink a few times. He turns back towards the counter, going for one of his potions. “Did he say what he wanted?”

“No.” Laila shakes her head. “Maybe it’s something better said face-to-face. You know. Work things.”

“Yeah.” Jeremy uses the potion on the plant, then moves on to checking the next one. “Tell him to come by later, yes?” 

Laila types.

“Are you still convinced today is going to be a good day?”

Jeremy blinks. “What do you mean?”

“Kevin never comes with good news.” Laila chuckles. Jeremy  _ tsks _ again.

“Don’t be like that, Laila. It’s always good to see him. He’s a good friend.”

“Ugh.” Laila gets up for more coffee, then pats the coffee maker. It makes a happy little noise — it’s always weird when they do that — then turns itself off. “You’re so relentlessly optimistic. Never change.”

Jeremy beams at her, though it’s mostly for show. It’s around then that the door dings — the day’s first customer.

  
  
  


It’s a slow day, which pleases Jeremy just fine. He enjoys sitting around with his plants, tending to them, and letting his magic roam free. There are no rude customers, which just proves it’s supposed to be a good day after all. He mentions that to Laila, who just snorts.

“When you’re so stupidly optimistic, everything is a sign it’s going to be a good day.”

Master Rhemann visits, too. He’s in his fifties, now, with greying hair and a receding hairline, but Jeremy will always remember him the way they met, several years ago, when Jeremy was just starting to understand he had magic, and Rhemann explained everything with the patience of a saint to the wide-eyed, naive little boy.

Jeremy’s no longer a kid. He’s grown into his own person, now, he leads his own coven. He’s even a Big Name in natural magic, which he owes to Rhemann himself. Still, it’s always a pleasure to have his old Master show up. They trade stories, they discuss philosophy, and they help each other with research.

Rhemann’s working on something, currently. Well, he’s always been working on something, ever since his kid died — healing magic, specifically. It’s a difficult field, because magic is constrained by very rigid rules of equivalence, and healing someone is often both very tiring and dangerous. Most witches can’t heal at all, and those who can only do it with wounds and injuries that aren’t life-threatening.

Rhemann’s always trying to graft plants to make more powerful ingredients for healing potions. It’s his life’s work. Jeremy’s very proud he gets to be a part of it — he’s proud he can help Rhemann back, after everything the man did for him when he was younger.

“But I shouldn’t bore you with research talk.” Rhemann laughs self-consciously when he’s done explaining the properties of his newest graft. “You know how this old man gets when he starts on his favorite subject.”

“Don’t be like that, Master.” Jeremy smiles. “You know I love talking to you about magi-biology. It always sparks interesting ideas.”

Rhemann pats him on the back. “You’re too kind, you know?”

Laila snorts. “I’ve been telling him that! Maybe he’ll believe your words over mine.”

“The two of you aren’t allowed to gang up against me.”

“One of these days, your kindness will come to bite you in the back,” Rhemann says. “I know it’s nicer to believe that every person you meet is essentially a good person. But everyone has dark secrets.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “It’s not that I don’t know that. But kindness should be everyone’s default. It costs nothing. And it makes everyone happier.”

Laila makes a disgusted noise. Rhemann laughs, and pats him again — on the head, this time, like a little kitten. Jeremy grimaces. “Stop it.”

He leaves not much after, and it’s when he’s crossing the door that Kevin enters the shop, accompanied this time by someone Jeremy isn’t familiar with — not his banshee friend, then, nor the taciturn witch, his usual companions. It’s a tall man, instead, with dark hair and grey eyes, an air about him that makes his plants inch away slightly.

It’s unnerving. 

It doesn’t help that the man is looking around with a scowl marring his (admittedly beautiful) face. 

“Hey, Jeremy, Laila.” Kevin waves, ducking so he won’t hit his head on one of his tallest plants, and then approaching the counter. Jeremy’s always thinking he ought to move that particular plant, but she doesn’t like to be anywhere else, and he thinks it’s amusing how she does it on purpose. Kevin doesn’t seem particularly bothered, either. “These are Detectives Moreau and Alvarez. We wanted your help with one of our cases.”

That’s when he notices the woman behind the men — detective Alvarez? She’s looking at Laila with wide eyes and an open mouth, which morphs quickly into a wide smile. She saunters closer, then leans on the counter. “Hi! It’s a real  _ pleasure _ to meet you.”

Jeremy blinks. Laila’s blushing, which is… new.

Jeremy’s going to have to mock her about it later.

For now, he keeps his eyes on the other man, detective Moreau, who’s approaching the counter much more slowly. He’s looking around, and Jeremy thinks he sees a glimmer of interest in his eyes, despite the glower. A fellow witch, perhaps? Annoyed that Jeremy’s plants don’t like him?

“What can I help you with?” he asks, distractedly. Moreau looks up.

“We’ve found a body,” he says, approaching more quickly. He has an accent- french, maybe? “There were traces of natural magic,” he adds as he reaches the counter. There’s a noise, and then the detective slides a file towards him.

Jeremy raises an eyebrow, but looks down at the file. There’s a picture of a corpse, though it looks- dried. “No necromancy?”

“Surprisingly not.”

“Can I-” Jeremy asks, but even before he gets an answer he’s already digging deeper into the file. Behind the picture, there’s a note describing the place where the body was found, and a report by the coroner. There is surprisingly little information. When Jeremy looks back up, Moreau is looking at him with a look Jeremy can’t quite figure out. “Am I a suspect?”

The detective’s mouth ticks up. “Should you be?”

“No, I mean-” Jeremy starts, but Kevin interrupts him.

“Andrew refuses to come back to work before Neil is completely healed.” It takes a moment for Jeremy to connect the names and the faces. “So we’re down a natural magic expert, which is where you come in.”

“We’d like you to take a look at the body and where it was found. Give us another perspective.”

“Right,” Jeremy says. He looks beside him, towards Laila, but she’s currently distracted by the other detective. Jeremy considers interrupting their conversation, but the way she’s winding her hair around her finger and her small, soft smile make him think twice. “Right,” he says again. “I’ll do it.”

“Great!” Kevin claps. “Great, are you busy now?”

“Like, right now?” Jeremy looks around the shop, but there are no customers. He looks back at Kevin.

“No time like the present.” He’s smiling as he says that. Jeremy smiles back, but it’s distracted.

“I’ll have to close down the store, I think.”

“Meet us at the precinct, then.” It’s Jean who says that, looking from Kevin to Jeremy with a look Jeremy can’t quite read.

In response, Jeremy nods. Jean nods back, abruptly and only once, before going back outside. As he’s walking through the door, he calls: “Alvarez!”

The woman doesn’t seem to have heard him. He turns back, frowning, looking even more annoyed than earlier. “ _ Alvarez _ .”

“I’m coming, calm down!” She pats something on the counter, then slides a piece of paper towards Laila. As she’s walking away, she gestures at her own ear, and says: “Call me!” The bell rings as she walks past the door, towards the car.

Jeremy opens his mouth. 

“Not one word!” Laila hisses, and Jeremy decides against speaking — but can stop himself from laughing out loud.

  
  
  


It’s not the first time Jeremy’s worked as a consultant for Kevin, but this is certainly the first time he’s asked to be so hands-on. Usually he takes a look at some reports and then gives them his opinion as an expert. This time, they asked him to take a look at the dumping site, and even the body personally. 

The crime scene is in the middle of a hiking trail, which means they cannot drive all the way up. It’s unfortunate, considering Jeremy hasn’t practiced any sports ever since he stopped competing, and as a result he’s a little out of shape.

“There wasn’t much information on the file about the place where the body was found.” He says as they exit the car. “Just some pictures, and notes about the hiker who found it.”

“The SDU wasn’t notified until the body was already out of here,” Kevin answers. “We haven’t had the chance to take a look around.”

“I see.” Jeremy nods. Behind him, detective Moreau is a silent presence while his partner, detective Alvarez, chats away about the latest episode of Shark Tank. Every once in a while, detective Moreau makes a scathing comment, mocking something on the show, and Alvarez will lean her head back and guffaw.

By the time they reach the actual crime scene, Jeremy is breathing heavily, but neither of the detectives nor Kevin seems to be particularly affected. For just one moment, he allows himself to feel cheated.

“I don’t think the crime was committed here,” detective Moreau walks past Jeremy even before Jeremy’s had the time to normalize his breath. His strides are wide, certain, and his shoulders are squared. There’s an unmistakable air of professionalism about him. As his piercing grey eyes look around, only a furrow between his brows betrays his concentration.

It’s an attractive look, and Jeremy pretends his suddenly dry mouth is a result of the impromptu physical activity.

“Why not?” Kevin asks, arms crossed, seemingly observing detective Moreau’s movements.

The detective looks annoyed only for a second, before his expression smooths out. He mutters something under his breath, too far away for Jeremy to hear. His partner, Alvarez, doesn’t seem to have the same problem — she snorts.

“Death,” the detective says, louder, “always leaves a mark. If death had happened here, I am sure I would be able to feel it. There’s nothing.”

“There’s nothing in the body, either. You said it’s as if it was never alive, but we know it has been. So the murder could have happened here, and you’re just incapable of feeling it.”

There’s a second of heavy silence. Then detective Moreau says, with a heavy tone: “That’s certainly a possibility.”

Kevin shakes his head. “Let’s have Jeremy take a look.”

Jeremy looks at detective Moreau, who’s crossed his arms at this point, and then back at Kevin, who’s looking progressively more impatient. Hoping to defuse the situation, Jeremy smiles at Kevin, and then walks up to the detective. “I can do that.”

“By all means,” detective Moreau gestures towards the trees, an ironic tilt to his smile.

Jeremy nods. The detective walks back towards Alvarez, and Jeremy crouches down, closes his eyes, touches the ground with only the pad of his fingers, then the palm of his hands. He takes a deep breath — and then lets his consciousness flow from his body towards the earth, onto the plants.

  
  
  


Jeremy resurfaces slowly. First there’s the awareness of his body, the sensation of his hands touching the ground, of his clothes. Then there’s sound — Kevin’s voice, in a heated argument with detective Moreau. He isn’t quite aware enough to make up the words before they stop arguing abruptly.

“Mr. Knox?” It’s detective Alvarez who calls for him. Jeremy blinks. Yes, that’s him.

There’s a hand on his shoulder, and someone helps him up. Jeremy blinks again, and finds himself looking into piercing grey eyes.

“Alright?” The detective’s voice is softer than expected and his hand is still holding his forearm.

“I’m fine.” Jeremy licks his lips. “Thank you.”

The detective nods and lets him go.

“Jeremy?” Kevin says, which Jeremy recognizes as the prompt it is.

“Non-magical plants are not as aware as magical plants, so I wasn’t expecting to glean much information from this.” Kevin nods, as if he had already expected that. Jeremy grimaces. “But I’ve got nothing.”

“What?”

“Nothing. They don’t know anything. There are certainly traces of natural magic, yet there’s no information to be gleaned here. The… what’s it you call them? Unsub. It’s probably an earth mage, a powerful one, that knew what he was doing. They erased any information I could have taken beforehand.”

Kevin curses. “I’m not going to ask if you’re sure.”

Jeremy suppresses a smile. “I’m sure.”

“Ok.” Kevin says. “Ok. Let’s have you take a look at the body.”


	3. Chapter 3

The first thing Jean does as he parks his car in front of his gate is sigh deeply and let his head fall against the steering wheel, eyes closed. He feels wrung out in a way he hasn’t felt in a long time. His job isn’t easy, emotionally, but the homicides are rarely personal and Jean’s affinity with death means it just doesn’t weigh as much as it would for anyone else.

The problem, in this instance, is Kevin.

It’s been years,  _ years _ — yet working alongside him is too familiar. He knows the way Kevin’s mind works, so he knows exactly what he’s thinking and what he’s going to say. That’s not the problem, exactly. No, the problem is the fact that he keeps expecting Riko to show up, keeps falling back onto old patterns he’d thought he’d left behind with Riko’s demise. Then he gets aggressive to compensate, to prove himself that he can, that there are no more masters.

“ _ Nothing’s too dead that it can’t come back _ ,” Tetsuji used to say. It’s something he’s lived by for longer than he can remember, and the sentence tastes bitter on his tongue even now. 

He doesn’t mean corpses, the way Tetsuji did: people with information the Moryiamas wanted, and whom Jean needed to wake no matter how difficult, how tiring, or how impossible. 

No, he means the memories he wishes he had managed to bury alongside his old masters.

He sighs again. The day is gone, now, and he’s alone. He’s alone, he’s alive, he’s  _ free _ . It’s always worth it to remind himself of the fact. Tetsuji is dead. Riko is dead. He’s free. 

Jean opens the car’s door, lets the cold air of evening greet him. It feels good, on his face, reminds him that for all that he still has to battle his past, there’s always the little things. He’s free.

He looks at the sky — dark and empty, the moon barely visible under the smoke of the city, but still comforting in its presence — and then forces his feet to move. One after the other, until he’s at his door, until he’s inside.

Inside, it’s a little better. 

Persephone comes bounding from her spot under the window, winds herself against his legs. Jean crouches down to scritch her between the ears, and she purrs. Not one minute later, comes Osiris. They’re both kittens, tiny little things with too-big ears and too-big paws. They’ve been kittens ever since Jean found them abandoned on the road, some years ago, and they’ll be kittens for as long as Jean’s magic manages to sustain them.

He goes further inside his house. It’s small and homey: Jean’s worked hard to make it so, curating everything very carefully so his house is the most comfortable place in the world. He’s proud of it, of the mismatched set of cushions on his sofa, of the monstrous rug on his living-room, of his menagerie of undead pets.

He walks past the living-room, turns on the TV — as background noise, because he doesn’t usually pay much attention —, then pads into the kitchen. Much like the rest of his house, it’s composed of mismatched clutter. Unlike the rest of the house, pets aren’t allowed here. Jean takes off his coat, puts it on one of his chairs, then gets dinner started.

He’s not going to think about Kevin anymore, he decides. It’s been a long, long day, and he deserves a break. He forces his mind to cycle through much more pleasant thoughts, and stops unbidden at the memory of earlier this day, when the consultant — Jeremy Knox, if he remembers correctly — arrived at the precinct.

  
  
  


_ It’s late afternoon, by the time the consultant arrives. By then, most of the day officers have already gone home, and the night crew is only now starting to trickle in. Jean didn’t have any plans of going home early, so he’s writing a late report while he ignores Kevin’s presence at his back — who’s being his usual, annoying self at someone on the phone. _

_ There’s a buzzing at the base of Jean’s spine, and he doesn’t have to look up to know the consultant’s behind him. Immediately, as he stops, Kevin manages to end his conversation, and the three of them face each other. The consultant offers Kevin a smile, and then turns it to Jean. _

_ It’s a weapon, on his face: bright and wide, his eyes are partially closed, and his cheeks have dimples. Jean almost feels like smiling back. He definitely feels the swoop in his stomach. _

  
  
  


He shakes his head. This is not a rabbit hole he should let himself fall into. He’s too old to fall for a  _ pretty smile _ , and developing a “crush” (and, shit, what a juvenile term) is a complication he really doesn’t need. Especially not to some sunshine witch who’ll never give him the time of the day, no matter how nice they seem to be on the surface.

_ No _ , he tells himself forcefully. His own voice startles him, and he realizes he said it out loud. It’s ok, though, there’s only himself at home. Him, and his pets. No one is going to judge him. “I’m going to think about something else now.” He says, slowly, testing the words, then forcefully turns his thoughts towards his magical experiments.

  
  
  


When he isn’t working, Jean enjoys experimenting with magic — although perhaps  _ enjoy _ isn’t really the word he’d use. A consequence of his magic is that he’s usually restless and relaxing is impossible unless he’s spent this energy somehow. A consequence of his affinity being necromancy is that there aren’t that many safe outlets.

So he has an office. A… laboratory, of sorts, where he spends much of his time trying to bend his magic into safer, more useful forms. Currently, he’s been working on healing, though it’s been slow going. He’s sure there must be a way to use his own energy in order to close wounds, but he hasn’t found the right approach yet — the cut he made on his hand has still not closed by the time his phone rings.

He picks it up, expecting it to be Alvarez. It’s not, though: it’s Kevin. His name lights up on the screen and Jean feels his hand shake before he controls himself with a deep breath. It’s fine. He’s fine, it’s fine. He answers the call.

“We have another one.”

Jean curses. He looks at the cut on his hand, at the mess on his laboratory, and shakes his head. A problem for another day.

“Send me the coordinates.”

  
  
  


He’s out of breath when he reaches the top of the hiking trail. His experiment made him tired, and the day’s too hot, so he’s sweaty and uncomfortable — which is made worse by the fact that Alvarez is not even a little winded by the physical activity, and mocks him relentlessly.

“I’ll turn you into a zombie,” Jean tells her when they stop a few feet away from the yellow tape, Alvarez offering him her water bottle. “And then I’ll shoot you in the forehead and they’ll laud me as a hero for stopping a zombie apocalypse.”

She snorts. “You’d miss me too much.”

“I’d enjoy the silence too much to miss you,” Jean says very seriously and then dodges her swat before starting towards Kevin.

He’s immediately recognizable, the tallest person among the group, short hair, immaculate suit. Jean thinks he’s using magic to keep his appearance so perfect, which is definitely cheating on his books. The consultant is already here, and they seem to be discussing something, Jeremy’s hands moving up and down as he explains. Jean forces himself not to look too intently at him.

“No, no, there’s definitely traces of natural magic in the body. I just don’t know that an earth mage would be capable of this. It’s not a result of any spells I know how to cast, and I just can’t fathom an approach that would lead to this result.”

“So you think it’s… what? A necromancer masking their energy?”

Jeremy shakes his head, but it’s Jean who says: “This is not necromancy.” Kevin turns with a raised eyebrow, and the consultant’s head swivels to look at him.

“Oh, hi!” The consultant smiles and offers his hand. Jean goes to offer him his, then remembers it’s the one he’d cut earlier, and offers him the other.

“Hello.”

“Yes, yes, hello.” Kevin waves politeness around, impatient. Jean’s too used to his antics, and when he steals a look at the consultant, he gets the impression the man is simply amused. Also used to Kevin, then. “Why is it not necromancy?”

“Usually necromancy leaves a very distinct… aftertaste.” Jean grimaces. “There’s not a good way to explain this, but… if this were the work of a necromancer, you  _ would _ be able to feel it. There’s no way to hide your magic type from other witches. I would know, I’ve tried everything.”

It’s Kevin’s turn to grimace. “One of you has to be wrong about this. It’s either an earth mage who’s managed the impossible, or a necromancer who’s managed the impossible. Necromancy is the most likely, considering the statistics.”

Jean opens his mouth to answer, but it’s Jeremy who says: “Considering that until recently most necromancy was forbidden, I’m not surprised by what the statistics say.”

Jean’s head swivels to the side, and Jeremy offers him a friendly smile before turning back towards Kevin. “Look, I don’t think it’s a necromancer. There’s no way a necromancer would be able to erase the information on the plants at the dumping site. The other one, and this one too. If it were a necromancer, we’d definitely have more going on.”

Kevin purses his lips, then looks thoughtful. Jean decides to leave him to it. He goes to look for Alvarez, who at this point has already struck up a conversation with one of the other officers in the scene, but someone touches his arm. Jean doesn’t flinch, but it’s a close thing.

“Sorry,” Jeremy says, sheepish. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“It’s fine, “Jean answers, not as gruff as he usually is, but he gets the impression it still comes off as cold. He’s not used to being friendly. “Uh, did you need something?”

The consultant shakes his head. “No, I…” he hesitates. Jean inclines his head to the side. “I noticed you have a cut on your hand? Maybe I could heal it for you.”

“Really?” Jean hears himself ask before he can think about it. Healing is tiring, and Jean doubts it will be easy, even if Jeremy Knox is generally considered to be one of the best witches of his generation. After Kevin.

“I mean, a cut in the hand is just really inconvenient, and I really don’t like it when people are hurt.” The consultant scratches at his cheek. “It’s such a minor thing, too, it’ll barely even leave me tired! So…” Jeremy extends his hand.

“ _ Incroyable _ ,” Jean mutters under his breath. 

He hesitates only for a second, before putting his hand on the consultant’s. His touch is warm on Jean’s cold palm, soft as it slides over the long cut. It doesn’t hurt, it just tingles as the skin knits itself closed.

“All done, now.” Jeremy smiles at him, eyes shiny, and pats his hand once. For the second time in their acquaintance, Jean feels his stomach drop, and his face freezes before he can answer. He collects his hand, perhaps too quickly, and does not run away. 

He’s just remembered that he needs to go talk to Alvarez.

  
  
  


“What do you have for me?” Jean crouches next to Alvarez, who’s currently taking a look at the body. It is, just like the last one, a terrible sight. Dried of everything, unsettlingly empty. Jean can feel nothing at all, not a single buzzing to show that it was ever alive. It’s only the second body he’s ever seen that he doesn’t think there’s anything he could do to wake.

If only Tetsuji could see him now.

He wonders at what kind of spell would be capable of such a thing. It’s certainly a new one, or he’d have heard of it. A spell that stops a body from being awoken is certainly something the Moriyamas would have heard of, would make use of, to get rid of any loose ends.

It’s certainly something he’d also have stumbled upon, during his stint under them. The Moryiama’s enemies would have certainly used such a thing to make sure dead people stayed dead, and information stayed buried.

“It’s a male. We don’t have any identification, so we’re gonna need to go through the mundane channels and ask for a DNA test, then hope he’s in a database somewhere. They couldn’t glean any other information from the body — age, origin,  _ nada _ .” She hesitates. Jean waits for her, patiently. “Can you really not feel anything?”

Jean shakes his head. “No. It’s very unsettling.”

“Yeah?”

Jean lets out a breath. Alvarez was the first friend he made outside of the Ravens, and this was mostly due to her stubbornness. There aren’t that many supernatural beings in the police force, at least not outside of the SDU, and Alvarez had wanted someone who understood a little what she was going through.

Jean thinks he’s benefitted the most from this friendship, but she doesn’t like it when he speaks like that. Claims friendships aren’t trades, and that it’s ok to take what you need.

“Yeah,” he nods. It’s weird, how her curiosity doesn’t raise his hackles, how he feels like he can be himself when he’s around her. “Imagine there was someone right in front of you, but you could smell nothing coming out of them.”

She shudders. “I can’t imagine not being able to smell.”

“Speaking of smell,” Jean starts, looking at her face intently, then down at the body. “Can  _ you _ smell anything out of the body?”

“I’m not a police dog,” she grumbles.

Jean raises an eyebrow. “Is that a no?”

“It’s a ‘just for the record’.” She takes out her coat. “Can you ask everyone to take a few steps back? It’ll make this easier.“

“You heard her,” Jean says, gesturing at the other cops. He doesn’t move. If she had wanted him to, she’d have said so. Instead, he gets comfortable, and watches her. She doesn’t do this often, even less often than he uses his magic, in fact, which is fair.

It’s always a funny sight, her face half-transformed, her nose twitching.

“There’s this very faint scent... It’s sweet. Flowery.” Alvarez frowns. She turns her face towards the victim’s coat, and then squints. “I couldn’t-” she interrupts herself, hand extended towards the body. She slides her fingers over the victim’s coat, until she finds something. A petal.

“What’s that?” a voice asks. It’s the consultant. He’d been standing behind them, watching as they worked. Jean hadn’t even noticed him there, and Alvarez had said nothing. Probably she wasn’t bothered about it.

“Do you recognize it?” Alvarez hands it to him.

The consultant holds it between two fingers. After a few seconds, it starts to disintegrate into glowing dust, then it’s gone. He smiles. Jean looks away from his face, back towards the body. 

“I know what this is from.” The consultant seems excited. “Lucky for us, it’s a restricted plant that only some people can have. And I am the only person registered to sell it in our district.”

Jean looks back at him. “Really?”

The consultant nods. “Let me give Kevin the good news.”

  
  
  


“I don’t like this,” Kevin says for perhaps the third time within the hour.

Jean suppresses the urge to tell him to shut up, to ask him if there’s anything he actually likes. When the consultant had said he could give them a list of the people with access to that particular plant within his district, Jean had felt relief — he’d thought, finally we’re moving forwards, finally there’s a chance we’ll catch the culprit.

The relief had disappeared immediately after he’d seen Dr. Harper’s name on the list, replaced by old, familiar dread. When the Ravens had fallen, Dr. Harper had escaped jail by claiming to be unaware of any illegal dealings and greasing quite a great number of hands. He’d managed to  _ stay _ out of jail by laying low and avoiding dealings with any other shady groups.

As far as he claims, he is a reformed man.

But Jean knows what he is capable of — a huge number of his nightmares figure the man, after all. Seeing his name on that piece of paper… there is this feeling of certainty. Here is a man capable of many despicable things, with access to powerful magicks, and willing to use them indiscriminately to further his research.

Here is their serial killer.

“We can’t arrest him,” Kevin says after the silence has gone on too long. “There’s not enough evidence to support it. He’s been smart so far, making it look like the work of a necromancer, erasing the memory of the plants. He will probably have a plan for this, too.”

Jean purses his lips, and looks away.

“It’s a terrible thing, that he’s still walking free today.”

“We need to pick our battles, Jean.”

“We can still interrogate him, ask him questions.” Kevin frowns. “Not formally. We don’t have just cause to bring him in, but we could ask for his cooperation.”

Jean purses his lips. He knows what kind of man Dr. Harper is, and he thinks if he plays this right… maybe he can manipulate the guy into giving him information and admitting to the crime.  _ Maybe _ .

  
  
  


It’s Kevin who knocks on the door, because Jean can’t quite get himself to do it. There’s a long minute of nothing and Jean just stays frozen in place trying to keep his trepidation from his face. Then the door opens, and he finds himself face-to-face to someone he’d hoped he’d never have to see ever again.

Dr. Harper doesn’t look like you’d expect a mad witch to look like. He’s a tall man, broad-shouldered, with a mop of already-greying blonde hair, and thin-frame glasses. Right now he’s wearing a fitted, light-blue button shirt, and sporting a mild, pleasant smile.

When he sees the both of them, his smile brightens. Jean suppresses a shudder.

“Kevin, Jean. It’s been too long.” He opens his door, gestures inside. “Do you wish to come inside? I’ve just made tea.”

“Mas-” Jean starts. When he realizes what he was about to say, he closes his mouth abruptly, with a clack. He sees Dr. Harper’s smile twitch, and he knows he’s made the man amused. He hates that with an intensity that surprises him. “Dr. Harper,” he grits between his teeth. “I am afraid we’re here on official business. We’d like to ask you a few questions.”

“Oh?” He leans against the doorway, looking for all intents and purposes completely relaxed. “How unfortunate. I had hoped to catch up. It does gladden me to see that two of my pupils have done so well for themselves.” He gestures at the two of them. “But I will be as helpful as I am able.”

Jean opens his mouth to retort, but Kevin sends him a warning look. Jean closes his mouth, then, and it’s Kevin who says, charming and without sincerity: “Thank you, Dr. Harper, I am sure you will.”


	4. Chapter 4

Working with Kevin rarely leaves Jeremy so unsettled — it  _ is _ not generally a pleasant experience, given Kevin’s line of work, but usually he’s looking at magical mishaps, analyzing data. Having to directly investigate a murder…he isn’t sure he is cut out for this, he isn’t sure he could do this constantly. It’s stressing. 

And, frankly, it’s leaving him a little paranoid.

He keeps looking at the suspect list, at the names he’s collected. He knows that one of these people is the  _ murderer _ , and that he’s talked to all of them at least once. He tries to write down what he remembers of these conversations, tries to wrack his head for every detail. What did he miss? Why didn’t he see it? Did any of them sound suspicious, when they told him what they needed the plant for? He knows detective Moreau and Kevin already have a main suspect, someone they’re sure is capable of all of this. He isn’t entirely sure why, though he’s started to form a vague picture — the detective and Kevin have history, and it’s something to do with Kevin’s abusive family. He’s not entirely sure how the detective ties to everything, but, well, he’s not just going to ask about it.

He’s underlined Dr. Harper’s name several times, while he was thinking. He remembers very little of their interactions, that’s how unremarkable it was. He sighs. He can already feel a headache coming, how his eyes are strained from staring at the same piece of paper for such a long time. He wouldn’t feel so desperate about it if there was only one body, but two of them means that they’re dealing with a serial killer, and that soon or later there’s going to be a third one. They need to solve this, as quickly as possible.

He needs more coffee.

Jeremy gets up from his chair, looks around his shop. There’s a customer on the flower aisle, but he doesn’t seem like he’s going to buy anything — he’s just looking around with an air of curiosity. A few feet away from him, also behind the counter, Laila’s typing away on her phone. She’s smiling at something, red cheeks and an air of rare happiness about her that makes Jeremy smile automatically in response. At least someone’s feeling good. He walks past her towards the coffee machine, and she only raises her head from the screen when she hears the machine beep.

“You don’t need another cup, Jeremy,” she chides.”What you need is a time out. A  _ pause _ .” Jeremy blinks at her, takes a sip of his drink. Laila’s phone buzzes and she glances at it only briefly before glancing back towards him. “Come on, J. Why don’t you go out a little, stretch your legs? I can take care of the shop meanwhile, it’s no problem.”

Jeremy frowns. “Are you sure, Laila?”

“Yeah, yeah, get out of here,” she says, but she’s not looking at him anymore.

  
  
  


Laila was right, Jeremy really needed to stretch his legs. Immediately as he walks past the door and the early afternoon sun warms his skin, he feels better. He lets tension bleed from his frame, then offers a smile to the driver parked in front of his shop. He doesn’t have anywhere specific he wants to go, so he decides to let his feet lead him where they will, trying to keep his mind empty of worries and just letting himself be.

He ends up at the nearby park.

He should have guessed that given the opportunity, his feet would take him to the nearest place with the biggest amount of plants. As an earth witch, it’s just… comforting for him to be around the source of his powers. He steps onto the path, steps silent against the gravel. There are dozens of people all around him, walking their dogs, running, playing with children. It’s pleasant to be among such life, after staring at a piece of paper for hours on end.

Eventually, he finds himself sitting under the shade of a huge tree, on one of the stone benches. There’s a light breeze and he closes his eyes, listening to the almost-silent rustle of leaves. There’s a knot of urgency at the bottom of his stomach, but he ignores it in favor of counting his breaths, in and out, letting the seconds pass him by. He doesn’t know how much time he’s let get away when he hears a vaguely familiar voice, feels the tingling of cold magic teasing his consciousness. 

Jeremy opens his eyes. There, kneeling on the ground with his back turned to him, is detective Moreau.

The detective has clearly not noticed him yet, so Jeremy gets up and approaches slowly. He’s curious, despite himself, about what’s going on. By the time he gets close enough to the detective to hear he is saying, the buzzing of magic is less like a tingle and more like a shiver at the base of his spine — not altogether unpleasant, surprisingly enough.

“Come, now,” the detective says, voice soft, low. There’s a black shape — a bird — laying on the ground, and the detective is touching it with bloodied fingers. “It’s ok, you’re alright.”

Jeremy feels a strange pull, and then goosebumps. For a moment, the park looks darker and there’s an absolute hush, no sounds Jeremy can hear except the fast beating of his own heart.

Then, the bird twitches.

“A raven is a proper witch familiar,” Jeremy says before he can stop himself. The detective startles so violently that Jeremy feels the urge to apologize. He half expects to be scolded, but the detective merely regards him with something like weariness on his face.

Jeremy tries to give him a reassuring smile, but it seems like he fails at it, because the detective looks away. 

“Sorry you had to see that.”

Jeremy shakes his head. “No, no. It’s fine, really. It was interesting. I’d never seen anyone practice necromancy before.” The detective scoops the bird — a raven — up on his arms, and then gets up. Jeremy watches him. “It wasn’t as creepy as I was expecting.”

The detective blinks, and then Jeremy realizes what he’s just said. He blushes. He opens his mouth, to apologize, but he’s interrupted by the detective’s amused laugh. The raven startles, though, because of the sudden noise, and then squawks. It beats its wings widely, trying to escape, and the detective accidentally lets it go.

“Oh, sorry.”

The detective mutters something that Jeremy doesn’t quite manage to hear, looking towards the place the raven disappeared to. Jeremy follows his look. They wait for a second, but the raven doesn’t come back.

“It just seems-” Jeremy starts, and then interrupts himself. He was about to say it was probably bad for the environment to let dead animals roam around, but it’s not his place to say anything, is it? No one complains too much when an elemental witch changes the weather.

Jeremy regrets his comment immediately when the detective squares his shoulders, and looks back at him with a closed off look on his face.

“It just seems…?” His tone is sharp. 

Right about then, the raven comes flying back, bringing along something shiny. It lands on the detective’s shoulder without any prompt.

“I was wondering about the impact of undead animals on nature.” Jeremy grimaces. He’s usually better at interacting with people, but there’s something about detective Moreau that’s… disconcerting.

Unexpectedly, at his answer, the detective smiles. It’s there and gone before Jeremy can so much as react to it. “I wouldn’t just let it go.” He pets the raven distractedly. ”And I couldn’t, anyway. The spell needs to be sustained. Constantly. You know how it is.”

“Constantly?” Jeremy frowns. He can’t think of any spells he could sustain for very long, personally. “That sounds tiring.”

“Hm?” The raven pecks the detective on the cheek, forcing him to look at the bird. It then drops the shiny thing it’d been carrying on his open palm. “Not that tiring anymore,” he says. He holds the earring in front of his eyes and looks at it intently, before pocketing it and turning his attention back towards Jeremy. “It was really difficult the first few times, but at this point I’ve already learnt the best amount of energy to feed them.”

“You have other familiars?” Jeremy himself doesn’t have any, and he has personally never met a witch with more than one familiar, but he’s heard that it’s possible.

“I don’t have a familiar.” The detective is quick to deny. “Animals and necromancy don’t… generally get on well. But I have other pets.”

“You bring them back?” 

“It’s just so unfair, sometimes. That they die before they ever get to live, and that people are so mean towards them. This guy here… he died because some kids were throwing stones. He deserves a second chance.”

Jeremy can’t fathom the amount of energy a witch would have to spend daily in order to sustain more than one long-term spell. The detective has to have some freaky reserves. He could do  _ anything _ with them. And, out of all the possibilities, he chooses to give animals a second chance in life.

“That’s…” Jeremy doesn’t know what to do with the information. “Sweet.”

“Sweet?” The detective raises an eyebrow. “That’s not what people usually say.”

“They’re wrong,” Jeremy sounds more forceful than he intended. He looks away.

The detective snorts. “You’re a strange one, Mr. Knox.”

“Jeremy.” His mouth says before his brain catches up to it. Again. “You should call me Jeremy.”

“You know what?” The detective turns towards him, a smile on his face. This time, it doesn’t go away so quickly — it stays. “Then you should call me Jean.”

“Jean.” Jeremy nods. He then inclines his head to the side. Now that he’s sated his curiosity and that he doesn’t feel so awkward, he allows himself to pay more attention to the detective. He’s wearing a red button shirt and dark, black pants. One of his hands in a pocket, the other is hanging limply at his side. He doesn’t seem as tense as the other times Jeremy has seen him, which Jeremy can’t help but feel happy about. “Do you want me to heal your cut for you?”

Jeremy extends his hand, palm up.

“Do you always offer to heal everyone’s small cuts?”

Jeremy shrugs. “It’s about all I can do. Healing is very difficult for bigger things, you know. And, well, if I can make my friends feel less pain than they usually would, it’s worth it.”

“Friends, huh?” Jean says, but he doesn’t seem bothered at the word. Just… surprised. He then smiles.

Jeremy smiles back. “... or charming detectives.”

The detective is still smiling when he offers Jeremy his hand. It’s big, full of thin, long scars, some of which look decades old. His skin is cold, but then Jeremy was honestly already expecting that. He slides his palm over Jean’s hand, delicately, and then concentrates on the cut. There’s always a little resistance when it comes to healing magic, and it’s a moment before the cut starts to knit itself closed.

Jeremy looks up from Jean’s hand to find the detective watching him.

“Why do you always cut your hand? It seems like a very inconvenient place.” Jeremy pats his hand once before letting it go.

“It’s tradition.” Jean shrugs. “When it comes to necromantic rituals, tradition has a lot of weight. It makes the magic more potent.”

“Earth magic is different.”

“You don’t really need blood.”

“We can use it, if we need more… woosh. But in general lines, it’s not something we do. Master Rhemann — that’s the person who trained me — he says it’s dangerous.”

Jean nods, and doesn’t say anything else. He starts walking towards the bench Jeremy had been sitting earlier. The silence stretches, and Jeremy doesn’t like it. It feels awkward. He fidgets, looks at his nails, then decides to try another subject. “What are you doing here, anyway? Lunch?”

“Well, not exactly,” Jean grimaces. “My partner, Alvarez has… recently found her mate. They’ve been messaging each other the whole day. It’s endearing, but…” he sighs. “I’m not the best person to be around, when it comes to relationships. I’m very cynic. And I don’t want to burst her bubble.”

“That’s fair.” Jeremy nods, but he feels strangely disappointed.

“What about you?”

For a moment, Jeremy thinks Jean’s asking for his stance on relationships. Before he embarasses himself, however, he realizes what the question actually means. “I’ve been staring at that list with the suspects for hours. Laila suggested I take a walk so I don’t end up committing murder over it.”

“Should you be admitting to planning murder to a detective?” Jean says. His tone is serious, but the curl of his lips makes it clear that it’s a joke.

Jeremy throws his head back and laughs. “Well, what are you gonna do? Arrest me?” Jeremy pretends to think. “I could probably outrun you.”

Jean snorts. “I don’t think so.”

They reach the bench, and Jean sits down. He seems different, away from Kevin and outside of the professional environment. More open. More agreeable. Jeremy really wants to sit beside him, strike up another subject, and talk to him for the rest of the day, but he realizes he can’t. He’s already spent too long away from the shop, and it’s not Laila’s responsibility to watch over it on her own.

“I should go back to the shop.” Jeremy sighs. “I’d really rather stay here.”

Jean looks at him, steadily. “Don’t let me hold you.”

Jeremy looks away. If Jean insisted, he thinks he’d stay. It’s disappointing, but not the first time Jeremy has been more invested in a person than they are in him. It won’t be the last. 

“I’ll… see you soon?”

Jean nods. Jeremy is about to turn away, when Jean stops him.

“Here.” He offers Jeremy his cellphone. “Give me your number.”

  
  
  


By the time he’s back to the store, he’s managed to strike a conversation with Jean via text message, which is not at all like a face-to-face conversation but it’s better than the alternative. Jean uses emojis, which is entirely unexpected, although a welcome surprise. It’s nothing close to the amount of emojis Jeremy uses himself, though, but the fact he uses it at all means Jeremy doesn’t need to feel embarrassed about it.

“You’re back,” Laila says. “Rhemann was just here, wanting to talk to you.”

“Ah, what a coincidence. I had an idea I wanted to run by him in the park,” he tells her, thinking of Jean and how different their approaches to magic are. He wonders if he could approach natural magic the way he approaches necromancy, if it would work. “I’ll give him a call.”


	5. Chapter 5

There’s something niggling at him about the new body they’ve found. He can’t put his finger on it, doesn’t know how to describe it in words that make sense. It’s this feeling of… foreboding, almost. As if he’s missing something, as if something bad is about to happen. 

When he relays that to Kevin, the man just shakes his head. 

“Don’t worry about it,” he dismisses Jeremy’s words with a gesture. “This is normal. Everyone feels like that, when it comes to serial killers. Both things are probably true. You just can’t let it bother you, it’ll only make you sloppier.”

In true Kevin fashion, this doesn’t make him feel any better.

The worst part is, the killer is getting  _ bolder _ . This time, the body wasn’t dumped on a faraway hiking trail. No, it’s at the park — the same one Jeremy visited the day before. It had been freeing, then, to have some time for himself, to spend some hours under the sun. Now, he feels only chilled. Cold, with the knowledge that he might have been here on the same day as the killer, at the same time, that he might have walked past the body and not noticed it.

Jeremy chances a look towards Jean, wondering if he also feels the disconnect, but the detective doesn’t betray anything: he’s a completely different person from the Jean Jeremy met the day before. Sharp, impassive, closed-off. Jeremy considers saying something, asking him if he’s ok, but doesn’t really know if he should. 

In the end, he decides not to say anything, and goes after detective Alvarez instead: she’s currently kneeling by the body, hair twisted into a ponytail, face half-transformed. Jeremy has to ignore the prey-instinct that tells him he should slowly back away, in order to walk towards her.

Before Jeremy has even stopped, Alvarez tells him: “Jean came back to the precinct smelling like you yesterday.”

It’s not at all what Jeremy was expecting her to say. There’s a hint of threat in her tone, and Jeremy has to suppress a shiver. “W-what?”

Alvarez turns towards him, face morphing back into human shape. “He’s different around you. Softer.” She smiles. He does not get the impression it’s a happy smile. No, it’s very wolfish, full of sharp teeth. “Do not hurt him.”

“That’s…” Jeremy doesn’t know what to say. He likes the detective, he has no plans of hurting him. Jeremy opens his mouth to tell her just that, but she’s no longer looking at him, instead looking at something behind his back. 

When Jeremy turns, he sees Jean stalking towards them, Kevin at his heels.

“We’ve just received the DNA test results of the other victims,” he tells them. “We have an ID. Alvarez, I need you to go talk to the family of our last victim. Jeremy, you’re with me.”

Jeremy blinks. “But what about Kevin?”

“No, only a moron would have Kevin talk to the victims’ families.” Jean shakes his head. Kevin, for his part, doesn’t deny the truth of these words. “He’s terrible at being comforting. He’d get irritated at their emotions, say something rude, and then they’d refuse to talk to him.” He shakes his head again. “Let him deal with this body. We can read his report later.”

  
  
  
  


The person they’re after lives in an apartment building, on the fifth floor. The elevator isn’t working, and as they climb the stairs, they talk: Jean seems warmer when he’s talking about his pets, livelier than usual. The closer they get, however, the more they climb, the somber Jean seems.

It’s not long before they’re standing together in front of the door.

“I hate talking to the families,” Jean mutters. Jeremy doesn’t think he was meant to hear it, so he doesn’t answer. Instead, he takes a step forward, knocks on the door himself.

There’s barely a moment for him to prepare himself before the door opens. He takes a deep breath.

“Mr. Davis? My name is Jeremy Knox, and this is detective Moreau.” Jeremy gestures behind him. “We’re here to ask you a few questions about your friend, Mr. Wilson.”

“Peter? I haven’t talked to him in a while.” The man hesitates. “Did… something happen? Is he in trouble?”

Jeremy opens his mouth, but he isn’t entirely sure how he should do this, if there’s any protocol. He’d hoped to spare Jean of this, but he doesn’t think he can, not entirely. He looks behind him, back towards Jean. The detective’s face is stony, his shoulders are squared, and he looks very tense as he says: “I’m sorry to say that Mr. Wilson has been murdered.”

“Oh. I-” The man loses all color so fast that Jeremy fears he will faint for a moment. “What… what happened?”

“Can you let us in?” Jean walks a few steps forward, and Jeremy steps back to allow him to take the lead. “We’d like to ask you a few questions. Anything you can tell us will be of great help.”

The man nods and opens the door a little wider. The place is small, smaller than Jeremy was expecting. It looks comfortable, though, well-lived: shelves full of knick-knacks, photographs on the walls. Jeremy doesn’t linger too much on any of them, not wanting to infringe on the man’s privacy. He sits on the tiny sofa, together with Jean, and Mr. Davis sits at a nearby chair.

It’s a moment before Jean asks any questions, a moment they spend in silence while Mr. Davis recomposes himself. Jeremy imagines their presence must be quite the shock.

“What was your relationship towards Mr. Wilson?” Jean’s tone is tentative.

The man’s response is a bitter laugh. “It’s… complicated. Sometimes we are-  _ were _ friends. Mostly we were… rivals or… nothing. It depends on his mood.”

Jean frowns. “But you’re registered as his emergency contact.”

“Yeah.” The man nods. “Peter didn’t have anyone else. Because of his past. He wasn’t the easiest person to deal with, you know? And he never managed to get over what happened to him. I think he resented me, because I never went through what he went through, and I managed to make something out of myself.”

“His… past?”

“Peter’s a witch.  _ Was _ . A… what do you call it? He was good with plants. Back then, magic wasn’t so openly accepted, so he got in with a bad crowd, with this guy who used to run experiments for these shady japanese people.”

“The Moriyamas?” Jean asks, tone sharp. Jeremy risks a glance towards him, and he’s sitting straight, knuckles white where they are holding his notepad. “Does the name Dr. Harper mean anything to you?”

Mr. Davis shakes his head. “I don’t know. I don’t know, I’m sorry.”

The man sobs. Jeremy waits for a minute, to see if Jean is going to say anything else, but he doesn’t. He seems tense, far-away, so it falls to Jeremy to nod.

“It’s fine,” he softens his tone, hoping to disguise his insecurity. “Tell me more about your relationship.”

“We… grew up together. Our parents were friends. But then his parents died, and I think he never actually believed it was an accident. It made him a little unhinged. But he’d been doing better, you know? Last I heard, he’d gotten into one of those rehab programs for witches. Found a new master to set him straight.”

Jeremy nods again. “I’m familiar with them.”

“So, yeah. But he was mad at me. I don’t know what it was, this time. What set him off. Two months ago, we argued. Again. I don’t even remember the reason. I...” the man starts to cry. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

Jeremy slides a little closer to the chair, puts his hand on the man’s arm. Squeezes. “It’s fine, don’t worry. Take all the time you need.”

He risks another glance at Jean. The detective’s eyes are unfocused, and he’s still holding his notebook with too strong a grip, staring at nothing. Jeremy bites his lip, unsure of how to proceed. He waits just a little longer, before saying: “Mr. Davis? Do you remember the name of Mr. Wilson’s new master?”

“It was something german. Rhemann, I think?”

Jeremy nods. He should have guessed, shouldn’t he? It’s a small world, and there are probably not that many people out there willing to take wayward witches under their wings. “Ok. Thank you. I think this is all the information we need right now, but could we have your number for if we have any follow up questions?”

The man nods, and Jeremy makes quick work of writing down his number, then ushering Jean outside the door. It’s only once the door is closed, that Jeremy lets out the tension on his shoulders.

  
  
  


There’s no pleasant chatter as they go down the stairs, only thoughtful, uncomfortable silence. With every step, Jeremy grows more worried. By the time they reach the car, Jean has still not uttered another word. When he doesn’t immediately turn the ignition and drives away, Jeremy decides that it’s enough.

“Are you… ok?”

Jean shrugs.

Jeremy waits a minute for an answer, but it seems nothing else is forthcoming. “Is this about Dr. Harper? You were very uncomfortable when we were talking to him the other day.”

“I…” Jean sighs. Then he nods. “Yeah, yes.”

There’s another long silence, but it feels expectant now, less awkward and uncomfortable. Jean seems thoughtful, instead of closed off, and Jeremy decides to wait for him to decide what to say. Eventually he sighs again, unlatches his seat belt, and turns his body towards Jeremy, sitting cross-legged. “Has Kevin ever told you anything about his… past?”

“Not exactly.” Jeremy shakes his head. Now that he thinks about it, he doesn’t actually know much, beyond very general lines. That’s not the kind of friendship he and Kevin have, they’re not really the sharing type. “I know he lived in some sort of abusive home? His brother destroyed his arm because of a petty argument. But… he’s generally very tight-lipped about everything.”

“Abusive home,” Jean snorts. “That’s one word for it.”

Jeremy blinks. “What’s another?”

Instead of answering immediately, Jean looks away, through the car window, then down at his hands. “Kevin and I… we used to work for the Ravens.”

Jeremy feels his breath stop for a moment. “The… Ravens?” He knows the name, but it’s not something he’d have associated Jean with. He’s surly and prickly, sure, but not a bad person. And the Ravens, Jeremy knows they were into some really dark magic, into comic-book  _ evil _ rituals. They terrorized half the city before they were brought down by the… SDU… 

Shit, is this why Kevin works for them?

Jean is still not looking at his face. “It was not by choice. Kevin’s mother was killed by the  _ M _ \- by Tetsuji, and he was raised by them. He didn’t know anything else. As for me… my parents sold me to the Moryiamas in order to settle a debt.” His voice is bitter. “It was  _ do their bidding _ or  _ die _ .”

A heavy silence falls in the car. Jean seems like he doesn’t know what else to say and Jeremy… he’s unsure of how to react.

“You must think me…” Jean starts saying, but stops himself when Jeremy touches his hands. Jeremy waits for an end to the sentence, but it doesn’t come.

“Hey,” he asks. “Look at me.” Jean slowly lifts his eyes to Jeremy’s face. Jeremy smiles at him, a smile that he hopes is comforting. “I think you’re very strong, to have survived the Ravens the way you did. And you’re a detective now, too. Helping bring comfort to lost souls. My opinion hasn’t changed since yesterday. I think you’re… sweet.”

Jean shakes his head, but still doesn’t say anything else. They stay like that, in silence, for almost twenty minutes before Jean turns back towards the steering wheel, latches his seat belt, and turns on the ignition. Jeremy still watches him, though, the way he looks tense and uncomfortable, and feels like there’s something missing.

It’s not until they stop at the precinct, right behind Kevin’s car, that Jeremy gets it.

“This is not about Dr. Harper.” Jeremy says. 

Jean just looks at him, lips pursed.

“It’s about Kevin, isn’t it? You were friends before, when you were with the Ravens. But now you don’t get on very well — your relationship is strained. I know that it’s none of my business, but…”

“You’re right,” Jean interrupts him. His tone is sharp, rough. “It  _ is _ none of your business.” And then he turns off the ignition, unlatches the seatbelt, and leaves the car, closing the door behind him with too much strength.

Jeremy watches him walk away, regretting his words already, unsure of what to do to fix his mistake — if there’s even anything he could do to fix it. He feels strangely hollow.


	6. Chapter 6

Jean is avoiding Jeremy. It’s not the most mature decision he’s ever taken, but he feels… he doesn’t know exactly what he’s feeling. Exposed, maybe, angry, and a little guilty. He knows he’s not a nice person, has never seen the logic in politeness, and he can even get pretty antagonistic when it comes to Kevin, but that is merely because he knows that Kevin can take it. Jeremy, though, he didn’t deserve the way Jean talked to him, and Jean… he doesn’t know what he could say to excuse his behavior. He doesn’t have an excuse, except that he was feeling raw, and thinking about it hurt.

So, yes, he’s avoiding Jeremy.

It’s not particularly difficult, considering everything: he hides under the excuse that he’s very busy so he can avoid looking at Jeremy’s messages on his phone, and he also pushes Kevin to explore any of the avenues that require Jeremy’s output himself. That leaves him with the boring bits: the research, the reports, the calls to other departments. It’s not ideal, but at least he doesn’t have to face him.

“You’re acting like a child,” Alvarez tells him as she puts a cup of coffee on his desk with too much force. It only doesn’t slosh because Jean is quick enough to hold it in place. “You’re an adult, for god’s sake. Act like it.”

Jean opens his mouth. His first instinct is to argue with her, make her angry, make her leave. But he doesn’t want that, exactly — he has no wish to alienate yet another person. He takes a deep breath, sips the coffee, and then tells her: “Drop it, please.”

She doesn’t. She rests her rip against his desk, crosses her arms, and looks at him with such disappointment Jean has to fight not to cringe.

“Look,” she says. “You reacted badly to one of his comments. Apologize about it. The guy seems pretty chill, he’s not going to hold it over your head.”

Jean doesn’t know how to explain that there’s no winning this situation — if Jeremy isn’t willing to forgive him, then Jena is going to regret his words for a long time. If he is, and if it happens too fast, like Alvarez is expecting it to, then Jean is going to feel guilty about it.  _ Guiltier _ . 

“Drop it,” he asks again, and nothing else.

Alvarez watches his face for a long time, before sighing. “Fine.” She moves away. “But for the record, I think you’re being stupid about this.”

  
  
  


The day crawls by  _ slowly _ . 

Without the pleasure of Jeremy’s constant stream of messages, and with Alvarez both disappointed with him and distracted by her own mate, there isn’t much happening that’s capable of distracting him. He goes from report to report, from screen to screen, from phone call to phone call. He stares at the map they built with the dump sites, at the list of suspects, at the information they’ve gathered about the victims.

He thinks, no, he’s  _ sure _ that Dr. Harper’s the serial killer, though the evidence they have is circumstantial at best, and no court would rule him guilty over it. They still don’t know how these people are dying, and what’s causing all the extra effects. They still don’t know what’s the killer’s motivation. Beyond the fact that the first two victims are both witches, they still don’t know what made the murderer pick them. It might just be Dr. Harper experimenting with magic he doesn’t understand, using whatever fodder he has at hand. It might be that he found a new master, who’s been paying him to figure out a way to stop a person from being awoken.

Jean sighs. He never thought he’d miss the ability to use necromancy on murder victims. He doesn’t want to admit that Alvarez was right, when she told him that asking the dead directly is much faster than mundane, everyday gritting. Plus, at this point, he can even let himself believe that not everyone is going to be disgusted by the type of magic he wields.

Fuck, he doesn’t want to think about Jeremy — but it seems that lately, he’s either thinking about murder or thinking about Jeremy. He doesn’t know which one is the worst line of thought: being incapable of finding the murderer, or seeing Jeremy’s hurt face every time he closes his eyes.

The fact that Jeremy was right about what he was going to suggest doesn’t help. Talking to Kevin — honestly talking to him, about his feelings and their shared past — is going to make him feel better in the long run. For the longest time, Kevin was the only person Jean could trust, the only person who cared about his well being, the only person who made him  _ laugh _ . Then he left, and Jean is still clinging to that resentment.

It’s childish. It’s damaging. It’s  _ wrong _ .

Kevin came back for him, and though in some respects it was too late, in others… it doesn’t matter. Riko is dead, Tetsuji is dead, and Jean is a free man. He owes Kevin something, for that. An attempt at salvaging their friendship is the least of it.

He doesn’t see it — but when he gets up, Alvarez smiles at his retreating back.

  
  
  


Kevin’s typing away at his laptop, inside the conference room he’s been assigned as a temporary office. Jean doesn’t knock on the door, but Kevin looks up anyway as soon as he approaches — Kevin’s uncanny witchsight used to be a source of comfort to Jean, because he would always feel when the masters were approaching.

He’d forgotten about it, in all honesty. He’d hoped for some time to mentally prepare himself for this conversation, but maybe he should just do it like ripping off a band-aid, let the words come out and hope for the best. He doesn’t think there’s anything he could say that would damage their relationship further.

“I’ve been reliably informed that we should… talk.”

Kevin frowns. He looks worried as he gestures at one of the chairs beside him. Jean knows that this kind of straightforward communicative behavior is very out of character for him, so Kevin isn’t entirely wrong to be worried.

“I don’t know how to start this,” Jean hesitates. “We’re… friends.”

“Yes?” Kevin’s still looking worried. “I know that.”

Jean drums his fingers on the table. Kevin’s quick assertion makes him feel both warm, and guilty because of what he’s about to admit. “You know that and I… didn’t.”

“What?” He looks hurt, which is not at all what Jean wanted. Like a coward, Jean decides that he doesn’t want to see what Kevin is feeling, so he looks away, towards the map hanging in the whiteboard.

“You left.”

“I came back.” Jean hears the noise of Kevin shutting his notebook close and sliding it away. He still keeps his face turned.

“It doesn’t matter. You  _ left _ . Do you know what it was like for us, after you did?” His voice breaks. “It wasn’t pretty, Kevin. You left, and the Masters made damn sure that we wouldn’t dare follow your footsteps.”

Jean can imagine the face Kevin is making. He distracts himself by counting the squares in the map.

“I didn’t…” Kevin starts, but doesn’t finish the sentence.

“During my least charitable moments, I really hated you.” He takes a deep breath.

“I’m sorry.” The apology is unexpected. The hand on his hands even more so. He forces himself to look back at Kevin, then. There’s a look to his eyes that Jean doesn’t quite recognize, something he’s never seen before. “I’m sorry.”

“Me too.” Jean squeezes Kevin’s hand once. “And… thank you. For coming back. You were free, and you didn’t have to come back. You could have gone on living your life, but you didn’t.”

Kevin shakes his head. “You were my best friend, Jean. I was always going to come back for you. I know you probably don’t believe me, but…”

Jean squeezes his hand again. It’s not a lie when he says: “I believe you.”

Kevin smiles. Not the charming smile he reserves for people he doesn’t care about, but the one that’s just a little crooked, just a little too genuine. The one Jean knows from the sleepless nights they spent watching dumb movies during their teenage years, hidden from the ever watchful eyes of their masters.

He’s missed it dearly.

  
  
  


Jean looks up when the bell rings, to avoid looking towards the counter. No one has ever called him a brave man, not even himself. Before he dares braving the labyrinth that are Jeremy’s plants, Jean takes a deep breath, forcing the ten

sion out of his shoulders. Only then does he chance a look towards the counter.

It’s not Jeremy standing behind it — it’s Laila. And the look on her face is one of barely concealed anger. Jean supposes he deserves it. He holds the cactus he’s bought a little closer to his body, before he starts towards her. 

“I came to apologize,” he says, but it ends up sounding more like a question.

For her part, Laila doesn’t answer immediately. She keeps looking at him for so long that Jean has to fight the urge to fidget. Finally, finally, after a long minute, she nods. “He’s at the back.”

“Alright.”

Jean starts walking. Before he can get much further, however, Laila calls him out.

“And detective… If you ignore him like this again, Alvarez won’t be able to protect you from my wrath. Do you understand me?” Jean nods. Despite being shorter than he is, and despite being a civilian, she still manages to sound intimidating. “Good. He’s been moping.”

_ ‘Back’ _ is… one word to describe this place. It’s less an office, the way Jean had been expecting, and more like a greenhouse. There’s a glass ceiling, which allows the sun to filter in, and all around the space there are surfaces littered with plants, some of which Jean has never seen before. Jeremy is currently sitting smack dab in the middle of it, legs crossed, eyes closed. There’s no wind inside, but his hair is swaying as if it was under the effect of a light breeze.

Jean doesn’t really want to interrupt him, but the choice is taken out of his hands when Jeremy says: “Laila, if you’re here about my moping, I already told you I don’t want to talk about it.”

Jean licks his lips, which are suddenly dry. “I’m hoping you will make an exception for me.”

Jeremy turns back so fast, Jean wonders if he has whiplash. “Jean,” he breathes.

“I brought a gift,” he says, because he doesn’t know what else to do. In many ways, his conversation with Kevin was easier — at least he knew what to say. 

He walks forward, hesitantly, until he stops by Jeremy’s figure. He offers him the pot.

“A cactus?” He takes it.

“Yeah.” Jean feels suddenly embarrassed about it. “It’s… prickly. Like me. I’m prickly.”

Jeremy smiles, but it’s a weak smile as far as his smiles go — the weakest Jean has seen, so far. It makes him feel like a monster.

“I wanted to apologize,” they both say at the same time.

Jean raises an eyebrow, surprised, and Jeremy looks away. When Jeremy doesn’t say anything else, Jean realizes he’ll have to take the lead.

“You have nothing to apologize for, I-” Jean hesitates. Sighs. “Kevin is a sore subject. Always has been. But we’ve… talked. And I won’t say our issues are all solved, because they aren’t. But we’re going to address them. And we’re going to try to do better.”

Jeremy smiles again, and this time it looks a bit brighter. “I’m glad.”

There’s a moment of silence. Jean has to ask: “Do you forgive me?”

“Yeah. Yes, Jean, I forgive you.”

“Thank you.”

“Do  _ you _ forgive me?”

“I said there’s nothing to forgive.”

“You’re wrong,” Jeremy shakes his head. “I realized it was a sore subject, and I pushed anyway. You said it was none of my business, and you were right.”

It’s Jean’s turn to look away. “You’re my… friend?” It sounds more like a question than an affirmation, and Jean grimaces. “That means you can ask me about personal subjects. I’m bad at them, at sharing, but… we can say it’s your business, if you want it to be.”

Jeremy  _ beams _ .


	7. Chapter 7

Jean yawns, and it takes all of Jeremy’s willpower not to do the same. The DNA test from the latest victim has just arrived, and the information keeps getting more confusing. The first two victims were both witches, but this third one was not — she was mundane. Her gender is obviously different. She has no relation to Dr. Harper that they can perceive and, for the time window when she disappeared, Dr. Harper has an ironclad alibi.

Unless he can teleport — which is not, as some may think, a readily available magick to witches — there’s no way he was responsible for abducting her. Maybe he has an accomplice and this is an attempt to throw them off his scent, but Kevin doesn’t think it likely, and Jeremy is inclined to agree with him.

Which means they no longer have a main suspect, and their theories are shot. Which in turn also means they’ve been staring at the evidence they have for hours, pouring over the data over and over, trying to connect the newest victim to the other victims, or to any of the people on the suspect list. 

So far, they’ve got nothing.

It’s when Kevin starts nitpicking on Jean’s observation for the third time, that Jeremy decides he’s had enough. He slaps his hands on the table, hard, and the noise makes both Kevin and Jean startle. “I need a break,” he says, when he’s sure he has their attention.

Kevin nods, dismissive, and then goes back to the document he’d been reading. Jean opens his mouth to keep going at what he was saying, but Jeremy interrupts him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m taking Jean with me.” When Kevin looks like he’s going to complain, Jeremy asks: “We’re going for coffee, do you want some?”

Kevin sighs noisily. Jeremy offers him a wide smile. For a moment they just stare at each other, and it’s Kevin who looks away first. “A latte, please.”

Jeremy thinks he feels his smile widen. “Alright! We’ll be back in an hour.”

He walks out, pulling Jean alongside him.

“What was that about?”

“You were about to start arguing with Kevin again. I could  _ feel _ it.” Jean doesn’t deny it. “So I decided to do you- and myself- a favor, and take us out of that situation. We  _ do _ need a break. We’ve been going over the evidence since lunch. Coming back with fresh eyes will only do us good.”

Jean smiles at him, and Jeremy blushes. “You don’t need to convince me, I’m already here.”

“Well,” Jeremy starts, but doesn’t know what else to say. He just keeps walking.

  
  
  


There’s a coffee shop Jeremy’s been meaning to visit for a while, ever since he visited the precinct that first day. It seems popular among the police crowd, he’s heard it mentioned by name several times, and Jean’s already admitted that he thinks the pastries are very good — so that’s where he leads them.

It’s not quite rush hour, but that doesn’t mean the coffee shop is empty: there are plenty of other officers milling about, most of which recognize Jean when they get in. Jeremy feels his lips twitch at the way Jean looks awkward, returning their waves. 

“I take it you don’t often come here?” Jeremy asks as he stops in line, after an old lady.

“Usually it’s Alvarez who’s doing the coffee run.”

“You should stretch your legs more often,” Jeremy tells him. “Leave the precinct, catch some sun. You never know what you might find.”

“That doesn’t sound like a pleasant prospect.”

“What? Letting the universe surprise you?” Jeremy elbows him. “Do you not believe in Serendipity?”

Jean blinks at him, thoughtful, and his lips curl up when he answers: “I think I have to.” 

Before Jeremy has time to ask him what he means by that, it’s their turn to order. Then they change subjects completely, because Jean wants to go back immediately, but Jeremy thinks that would defeat the purpose of taking a break.

“I did tell Kevin we’d be an hour.” Jeremy takes his own drink and starts walking towards one of the tables, hoping that Jean will follow him.

It’s the prospect of making Kevin wait that seems to convince Jean he should stay. Jeremy finds it endlessly funny how Jean can be so petty when it comes to Kevin specifically. It’s like they’re siblings, of a sort — which makes him happy that they’re finally dealing with their issues. Jeremy’s never been super  _ close  _ to Kevin, but he finds himself invested in his relationship with Jean.

He feels like Jean doesn’t have enough friends. And, after hearing about his past, he feels like Jean deserves many of them. People like to tell Jeremy that he’s a happy person, with an easy smile and an agreeable personality. It’s true. But Jeremy’s led an easy life. Jean, on the other hand — he’s had it hard. And, still, he’s such a sweet person, with his undead pets and little apology cacti.

He’s trying so hard to reach for happiness... and Jeremy just wants to give it to him.

It’s not a pleasant epiphany to have mid-conversation, as Jean’s explaining to him with expansive gestures, exactly how he met Alvarez for the first time.

“Yeah?” Jeremy says when there’s a lull in the conversation, a prompt for Jean to keep talking. Usually, it’s Jeremy who leads the most conversations he’s a part of. It’s true that he enjoys speaking, that he enjoys dealing with other people. But he’s also enjoying hearing Jean talking about himself with such unguarded cheer.

From the beginning, he’s felt attracted towards the surly-looking detective. But, now, this is the first time he thinks he’d like to keep Jean permanently — to be responsible for his happiness.

Jean is finishing his story, and Jeremy is about to open his mouth and say it — but then he remembers that they’ve just made up, and that he’s not entirely sure Jean likes him as more than a friend. He doesn’t want to burden him with this… feeling. So he closes his mouth back.

“What is it?” Jean asks. “You were going to say something.”

Jeremy smiles faintly, trying to come up with an excuse. “I’m afraid our break is over.”

“Let’s go back to hell, shall we?” Jean offers him an arm, and Jeremy takes it.

  
  
  


There’s been something niggling at the edge of Jeremy’s consciousness ever since they found this body. He's been thinking about it ever since, trying to figure out what it is that’s been bothering him. It’s when they’re walking back towards the precinct, when they walk past a car with a driver that Jean recognizes, that it dawns on him.

“Do we have the GPS from the third victim’s car?” Jean asks Kevin as soon as they’re inside their makeshift office.

“We used it to check the time when she was abducted.”

Jeremy frowns. “Can I take a look at it?”

“By all means.”

Jean passes him a tablet. Jeremy hesitates for only a moment before zooming in on the map, hoping that he’s wrong about this. He isn’t. The niggling feeling is a vague sort of recognition. The woman is an uber driver who operated in his neighborhood and, according to her GPS, she did stop for a while close to his store.

Right about the time when Jeremy was leaving for the park. Right around the time Master Rhemann came to visit him. It all makes a twisted sort of sense: Rhemann’s research on healing plants, his attempt at making a more potent healing plant. Is he trying to use earth magic to bring his son back to life? Is that why the modus operandi looks so much like necromancy?

Jeremy closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. He feels sick. He doesn’t want to be right, but now that he’s thought about it, he can’t get the idea out of his head. Master Rhemann isn’t capable of this, is he? Jeremy knows the death of his son was hard on him, but Master Rhemann is a good person. Maybe there’s another explanation for this.

Jeremy licks his lips. Makes a decision.

“I need to make a phone call.” He gets up. Then he changes his mind. “Actually, there’s something I need to check back at the shop. It’s very important. Call me in an hour. No, in two hours. I’ll let you know what I found.”

“Jeremy-” Jean starts, but Jeremy shakes his head.

“Two hours.” He pats the table, and then leaves.

  
  
  


Outside, he dials a number he knows by heart. “Hello, Master Rhemann? Can you meet me at the shop? There’s something I wanted to discuss with you.”


	8. Chapter 8

Jean watches Jeremy walk away with a heavy feeling of foreboding. He wants to go after him, but he still feels a little like he’s walking on eggshells, after they fought. He doesn’t want Jeremy to feel like he’s infringing on his freedom, doesn’t want him to think he’s too clingy.

He trades a look with Kevin, who just frowns silently before going back to his notebook. Jean can’t shake the bad feeling that fast — on his phone, he starts a timer. 

He’ll give Jeremy two hours, and not a second more.

  
  
  


The lights in the shop are on and the door is half-open. That would usually not be a problem, except the shop windows are broken and the inside is in complete disarray. From the outside, Jean can already see the broken shelves, the scattered plants. Some of them are mundane, which means they’re simply lying on the ground. Others, however, are magic.

Through one of the cracks in the shop window, there’s a purple branch reaching outside. Any time someone so much as approaches the shop’s door, it twitches. The officers have already cordoned off the area, but none of them have been brave enough to approach the shop.

Jeremy and Laila are also nowhere to be seen.

Considering that Alvarez is standing beside him with an unhappy frown instead of desperately looking around for clues, Jean will wager that she knows where Laila is, and that the witch is fine. Jeremy, however, has not answered any of the messages Jean sent since his requested two hours were over.

There’s a cold feeling growing inside of him that’s different from anything Jean’s ever felt before. He doesn’t know what to do with it.

“Do you think the plant is going to be a problem?” Kevin asks.

“No,” Jean answers, though what he actually means is _I don’t care_. He’d fight a dozen plants if it meant finding Jeremy faster. Plus… he’s never minded a little bit of blood — his, or otherwise.

He gets inside.

The branch on the shop window caresses his face as he walks through the doorstep, but doesn’t otherwise attempt to stop him. That’s good. Jean doesn’t know what he’d do if the plant had tried to stop him — probably something he’d later have to apologize to Jeremy for.

“There was a struggle,” Kevin says. Jean looks at him with the corner of his eye. He hadn’t noticed Kevin following him inside, didn’t realize he wasn’t going in alone. “Jeremy, and whoever the serial killer is… they fought, and the killer won.”

“Shut up,” Jean says. It’s out before he stops himself. He doesn’t want to hear Kevin describe what happened, it doesn’t _matter_ what happened. What they need is to figure out where Jeremy was taken.

“Jean…” Kevin starts, but Jean interrupts him by whirling around and holding him by the shoulders.

“Just shut up for a moment, Kevin, and let me think!” His voice echoes in the shop, when he yells. There’s a minute of pure silence, interrupted only by the noise of people outside. “Sorry.” Jean takes a deep breath, lets go of Kevin’s shoulders, then takes a step back. “Whoever they are… they’re smart. So far, they’ve been careful. But if Jeremy’s figured it out, then that means they made a mistake. And we’re going to find it.”

Kevin looks away. “We don’t know how long ago he was taken, or how long it takes for the killer to murder their victims.”

Jean lets out a bitter laugh. “You don’t know when to stay quiet, do you, Kevin?” Jean starts walking away from him. “I don’t want to hear your cynic realism, Ok? If you’re not going to help me, then get out.”

“He’s my friend too.”

“Well, yeah? He’s my-” Jean interrupts himself, closes his eyes. He doesn’t want to argue with Kevin, it won’t do him — or Jeremy — any good. He needs to remember that they’re on the same side, that they both want the same thing, and that wasting time antagonizing him won’t reach any results.

He knows Kevin is not being unpleasant on purpose. Like Jean, he’s never been very good at dealing with people — and Jean knows his dark comments are just his way of dealing with the frustration, the uncertainty. They’re both floundering.

“Do you remember what Jeremy was looking at before he left the precinct?”

Kevin starts shaking his head, but then he snaps his fingers. “The tablet! The GPS coordinates from our latest victim.”

“Can you ask Alvarez to check it out?”

Kevin nods. He goes to leave the shop, but just before he walks through the door frame, he hesitates. “If-,” he interrupts himself. “ _When_ we find him, you should tell him. About your feelings.”

Jean’s first instinct is to deny it, but he knows it’d be futile. Kevin knows him too well. Still, his feelings are irrelevant at the moment. “I can think about this right now.”

“I know I’m not the most comforting person,” Kevin sighs. “But… I trust your ability to find him. You’re a good detective.”

Jean doesn’t answer. Kevin hesitates only another moment before finally leaving, and Jean lets out the breath he’d been holding. Jean expects to feel relief, now that Kevin is gone, but his absence doesn’t make him feel any better — it just makes Jean feel a little colder, a little more alone. At least he can trust the knowledge that Jeremy didn’t die here: he can’t see any blood, can’t feel any energy he could tap into.

He shakes his head. What Jean is feeling is not important. It doesn’t matter. What matters is figuring out what the hell happened, and how to find Jeremy. He needs to put himself into Jeremy’s shoes. He’d called someone before he left, hadn’t he? Presumably the killer. It _has_ to be someone he’s familiar with, if Jeremy has the number saved on his phone, if he can just invite him for a talk.

 _What the hell were you thinking, Jeremy?_ How did facing the killer alone sound like a good idea? Why would he run away like that, if he knew the identity of the serial killer, without telling them anything? Fuck. Jean closes his eyes again, empties his thoughts. 

Jeremy invited the killer into the shop, and the killer arrived through the front door. Where would Jeremy stand? Someplace defensible. Behind the counter? It sounds like the least suspicious place, behind the till. Was he nervous, when the killer arrived? Was he smiling? Did they talk, or was Jeremy attacked immediately? What was it that tipped the killer? What-

“Jean,” Kevin’s voice interrupts his thoughts. Jean opens his eyes, looks at him. “Alvarez says Jeremy zoomed in on his own neighborhood. The victim’s car was apparently parked for a while close to the shop.”

Jean licks his lips. “Someone with access to the shop. Someone with access to the victims. Someone with access to a rare plant. It wasn’t Dr. Harper,” this truth tastes bitter on his mouth. “And it wasn’t Jeremy.” As he thinks, Jean rakes his eyes over the counter. Inadvertently his eyes focus on the cactus he’d gifted Jeremy. He takes it, before he can stop himself.

And there, under it, is a yellow piece of paper.

Jean blinks. It’s not a hallucination, not wishful thinking. He puts the cactus aside, gently, and hesitates only a second before touching the paper. There, written in capital letters, is _MASTER RHEMANN_.

“Kevin,” Jean calls. “Call Laila, ask her for Rhemann’s address. No, call your people, and ask them to pull up any properties with Rhemann’s name on it. See if they can figure out where he keeps his plants.”

“Rhemann? But-”

Jean raises his fingers as he narrates: “Access to the victims. Access to the shop. Access to Jeremy. It makes so much sense, I don’t know how we didn’t see it before.”

Kevin nods once, brisk, and starts the call. Only then does Jean allow himself to let go of the tension, just a little. They’ve figured out who it is, and now they just need to find them. He makes one last sweep around the shop, stopping again by the cactus. _Hang on, Jeremy, we’re coming_.

He only leaves when Kevin tells him they know where to go.

  
  
  


“Police, put your hands up!” 

Jean perks up when he hears Alvarez’s voice. He doesn’t want to allow himself to hope they’ve found the killer, they’ve found _Jeremy_ , but he can’t help it. Jean’s already running even before she’s finished saying the sentence, Kevin at his heels.

It’s no easy feat. They’re in Rhemann’s garden, which is both huge and labyrinthine. There are rows upon rows of magical and mundane plants, some of which are so similar it makes navigating a lot more difficult. It doesn’t help that Jean can feel death, here, both old and new.

His only saving grace is that none of them are _immediate_ — for now, Jeremy’s still alive.

“On your knees!” Alvarez says, holding up her gun against an ageing man, who has his hands up in the air. Jean recognizes him only vaguely.

“Where is he?” Jean raises his own gun. “Rhemann, tell me where he is!”

There’s no answer. The man is just looking at him passively, eyes full of understanding. As if he was sad to be doing what he was doing — as if he regretted putting Jeremy in jeopardy.

Jean aims his gun towards his head. “Tell me!”

“You’re not going to shoot me,” Rhemann says. “It won’t help him.”

“So you’re not sustaining a spell, then?” Jean asks. He keeps his gun aimed towards his head, but the man doesn’t seem afraid for his life. “It’s not a spell. And you’re an earth mage, and we’re in your garden. I thought it was probably the best place for an earth mage to get a power boost, but that’s not it, is it?” Jean looks intently at Rhemann’s face, trying to guess his tells. “You’re using a plant. Some sort of vampire plant that sucks people so much that it destroys even their spirit. That’s what you’re going to do to Jeremy.” Jean snorts. “And I thought _my_ master was bad.” 

“Focus, Jean!” Kevin’s tone is sharp.

Jean blinks. He remembers that Jeremy mentioned Rhemann’s kid was dead, and that his research was healing. “It’s not going to work, you know? You can’t bring people back permanently. Even if you healed your kid’s body completely, it wouldn’t work. The problem isn’t the flesh, it’s the spirit. It’s not anchored anymore. It’s moved on. If you don’t tell us where he is, he might die for nothing. I understand you’re desperate, but you like him, don’t you? He’s your pupil. _Please_.”

For a moment, Jean thinks it didn’t work. He’s about to consider another approach, something more violent, when Rhemann nods sharply towards his left. “Even if you reach him in time, once the plant has latched… I don’t think you’re going to manage to free him.”

Jean doesn’t wait for him to finish talking before he starts running in the direction Rhemann’s just pointed to. He doesn’t check to see if anyone’s securing Rhemann, if there’s anyone following him. He barely even has enough presence of mind to hope Kevin is a little less affected than he is.

Jeremy is all wrapped up by vines, a blue tint to his skin, and for a bleak, dark moment Jean thinks he is too late. But no, he can’t _feel_ Jeremy’s death, not like he can feel the other deaths here, which means that he must still be alive, he has to be. 

Now all Jean needs is to figure out how to set him free.

“Just a little while longer,” he begs. “Just hang on, ok?”

Jean needs a plan. He doesn’t know if it is safe to touch the plant directly, if it will… what was the word? Latch on him. He doesn’t have a blade on him, to cut it, and his gun won’t be of any use against vines. He wishes he wasn’t so constrained by time — he can’t think properly with all the worry he’s feeling.

If he was an earth mage, Jean could simply order the vines to move — but he isn’t. Jean is a necromancer. His dominion is death. _Death_. Could he…? Jean kneels. A plant is a living being, and every living being can die. He’s never tried this before, but theoretically, if Jean shoved enough dead energy inside something that is alive… well, only necromancers can survive channeling death.

Jean closes his eyes. There are no spirits here, the plant has consumed them, but it’s impossible to take a life away and not leave energy behind. He only hopes that there’s enough energy around for his purposes. He takes a deep breath. If he concentrates, he can feel the sparks of life of everything around him, _everything_ . He doesn’t need everything. He zooms in until he finds the life he’s looking for — the vampire plant — then he gathers every ounce of energy he can and _shoves_.

It’s a gasp that breaks his concentration — Kevin’s. When Jean opens his eyes, the vines are nothing but dust, and Jeremy is laying there… still alive.

“Jeremy,” Jean goes up to him. “Jeremy, hey.” He touches his face, his cheek, and it’s the very first time Jeremy’s skin feels cold to the touch. There’s a horrible moment of nothing but stillness, before Jeremy gasps and opens his eyes. He doesn’t seem to understand what’s going on, because he starts to struggle.

“Hey, It’s ok. It’s ok, you’re safe.”

“Jean?” he calls. His voice is gravely, weak. The struggling slowly subsides.

“Jeremy,” Jean sobs. “Fuck, Jeremy.” He pulls Jeremy up, wraps his arms around him, and then just… hugs him. The weight of him, the presence of him, the knowledge that Jeremy’s safe within his arms…Jean feels like he’d been drowning, but now he can finally breathe.

“Did you get my note?” Jeremy’s arms slowly move to hug him back.

“ _Jeremy._ ” Jean says again. He feels like he can’t say anything else except his name, like a prayer. It’s one of the few words he’s managed to think ever since Jeremy opened his eyes — Jeremy, here, and alive. “I was… I was so scared you had _died_. If I’d had to feel your death… I don’t think I could get over that. I…” Jean sighs. “I think I’m in love with you.”

“Oh,” Jeremy says, breathes the word against his neck. He nestles his face on Jean’s shoulder, cold nose against warm skin. “Oh, Jean. I didn’t think- I didn’t think you felt the same way about me. I know I’m in love with you too.”

“Don’t do this again. Don’t… don’t just take off without saying anything.”

“No, no. I don’t think I will. Once was enough.”

When Alvarez finds them, some twenty minutes later, they’re kissing. Quietly, under her breath so Jean doesn’t hear her, she mutters: “ _Finally._ ”


End file.
